Just a Name
by Your Faithful Servant
Summary: All they want is a name. Too bad Dick won't give it to them. Afterwards, his friend and previous teammate Raven has to help him pick up the pieces. Mentioned JayDick. Rated T for non-graphic torture and language
1. Just a Name

"Just a name. That's all. Just give me a name and all this will end."

Dick's bloody fingers twitched in the handcuffs above his head, red-smeared fists eventually clenching angrily. If he trusted his voice to not break when he spoke, he would have. His silence was enough of an answer, though it was not the one that was wanted. The arch, crack, and pain of the whip broke through his pain and drug muddled thoughts.

"Fine, be that way! I can go through this another two weeks. You… You I'm not so sure about." The words were snarled, biting. A small smirk rested on Dick's features at the frustration. He was fine, perfectly fine. He could go through this for eternity and another after that to keep his family safe. The pain was an afterthought. The hunger and anger were an afterthought. The only thing keeping him sane was knowing that this… This was all for _them_. If all went well, they'd never know that, but knowing this was all for a reason was somehow comforting.

"What's that expression for?!" Freezing fingers (or perhaps he was just feverish- that was more likely) pushed up his chin and forced his own eyes to meet a cold color he could still not remember, up to meet calm, dangerously calm, words, that increased in anger and decibels by the word. "You're not winning. You will never win. I promise you, no, I can guarantee, _I will break you_. I don't care how long it takes or what the _hell_ I have to do to you, but I will do it. And the first name that will exit your sobbing lips will be your _own._ "

Those fingers fell away, and so did his head, as he did not have the strength to hold it up at this point. The voice fell to a whisper once more. "Everyone has a breaking point. Something they can't handle. This is just a matter of finding yours." Dick's eyes narrowed at the crimson stained, dirty floor. His captor then snapped his gloved fingers. "We're done here, boys."

His voice was quiet, cracked, and he was not able to put it anywhere above a whisper. But those retreating footsteps heard anyway. "Physically, you can do whatever you want to me. But I love them more than I fear pain. Much more than I'll ever fear you."

He snapped his fingers again, and he knew that his little comment had cost him. But Dick didn't care. He really didn't.

Even as there wasn't even a break in the worsening pain and the cracks of the whip, he knew he had won.

* * *

He didn't scream when they tortured him, but he certainly did when they poured a bucket of ice cold salt water on the open wounds of his back to wake him up.

He knew that they liked that.

 _Dick move,_ he thought angrily, ignoring the irony in the insult. Honestly, if the handcuffs were just loosened he wouldn't bat an eye at breaking his wrist and slipping out of them, but they were usually so tight they bled, and the only time they weren't was when they were moving him into an easier position or place for whatever torture they had in mind for that day.

They moved him a lot, but drugged him every time. It was frustrating and he hated it, not to mention that an addiction to that drug was a possibility… which wasn't fantastic.

His fingers twitched in the restraints again, this time tightly bound to the arms of the chair he'd been forced into. The chair was partially why that was so painful. The water didn't just slip away. It stayed, seeping into his skin. Burning. It was not fun. Of course, none of this was fun, but the way Dick was acting it could be. Too bad he screamed. He was pissed they had caught him off guard like that. It just-

-ruined this fucked up game of truth or dare. Except it was always truth and Dick never told. But _fun_ , right?

"Morning, sunshine!" Ah, that false happiness. False hospitality. So that's how he wanted to play, huh? "How are you feeling?" _More compliant, he probably hopes._

"Can't say it's that great. Feel a little hung over." There we go… Anger flashed in those _eyes he still can't remember the color of._ Ha, one point Dick, zero points asshole.

"Is that so?" Cold, fake compassion. Well, shit, that can't be good. He still doesn't regret it though. These tiny victories keep him sane. "Well, I happen to have the perfect remedy for that.

Fuck. He did not like the sound of that, no he did not.

He really, really didn't, he found out moments later as the butts of cigarettes and the flames of lighters burned his skin. _It never hurt so much to be right._

He really didn't like how much this was affecting him, more than anything. Already, the smell makes him feel sick. He probably would have thrown up eventually, if he had anything left in his stomach to do so.

(Ah, I might have to really start make Jason take showers after he smokes…)

Okay, one Dick, one for the asshole. They're tied now. Time for another something stupid to get him in the lead again.

"Isn't it a l-little too early for a smoke break?" he asks, hating that stutter. Hating that weakness. Hating everything. He still forces a smirk though. Fake it until you make it. Or until you die. Whichever comes first. He didn't have much of a preference anymore.

(Isn't it your job to be snarky, Jason? You're really rubbing off on me.)

"M-My boyfriend usually doesn't have one until-" Oh god another burn- "-until later in the day. He knows… He knows I don't like it. Trying to cut down, I think." Rambling about nothing. Rambling about everything. He wanted to remember. If he was stuck here, for who knows how long, for until he died, those little things were ones he never, ever wanted to forget.

"You're a real talker, you know that?" Oh that annoyance. A half point, maybe? "Just not about anything important." Ha, that's funny.  
"Oh?" he says, eyes half lidded with pain and distraction, but also secrecy. Almost wisdom. Love. "You'd… You'd be surprised at what's important."

He laughs when they try to question him more, even when the burns get worse.

Two points Dick, one for Mr Loser.

* * *

He remembers the first time that one of them tried to take off his mask.

He'd only been there, that hell, a couple days. It had mostly been beatings up to that point, and a lack of food or water. It had weakened him for sure, but he was still able to defy in almost every way he normally could. Ways he was not able to by the end.

Had his grasping fingers been any closer, Dick honestly probably would have bit him. He was never afraid to do such things when he needed, having realized when he was much younger that you had to do what was necessary in desperate situations. This definitely qualified… and he wanted out before they did anything too awful. Anything that would leave scars.

He laughed about that way of thinking now. The only way he could have avoided that was to not be captured in the first place. (He just wished he could have kept the emotional scars from showing so much… But Jason had always been able to see through his bullshit, and Damian was learning) But even then… It was one thing to ambush him. It was another to fill a room with knockout gas and then come to retrieve him.

Cheating. Rude.

(He hadn't gotten to the point of really considering it a game at that point, but it was beginning)

But before Dick could even get the chance to discourage such behavior of reaching for his mask, a black gloved hand caught the wrist of the offender. In the next moment, there was a distinct, loud crack. The man called out, and the gloved man raised a brow.

"You should know better." He released the likely broken wrist and turned to Dick with almost hungry eyes. The other man moaned and hugged his wrist to his chest, his own accusing eyes flickering towards Dick. "We don't need to go to such measures. _He_ is going to tell us his name. Aren't you?"

Dick shifted in his restraints.

"I don't mean to be rude with all of your _gracious_ hospitality…" Hunger and thirst clawed at his stomach and mouth, exhaustion at his limbs. "..But usually people at least buy me a drink before asking questions like that. And I doubt my boyfriend would be happy with that, either. He is rather protective, you know."

"Rather snarky, aren't you?" was the angry answer. "By next week I'm sure that will be beaten out of you. We have quite the things in store for _false heroes._ "

(More cruel men have tried, and though Dick might bend, he sure as hell won't break)

"Wanna bet?"

(Not again)

"Would this _boyfriend_ you keep talking about still love you even if we cut up that pretty face?" The cold steel of a knife teased across his cheek. Dick's eyes narrowed.

"If either of us cared about looks, I wouldn't be in this business," Dick replied cooly. "...Besides, I know I'd still love him."

"You know what I think?"

"Honestly, I don't really give a damn." The knife pressed harder, though it did not break skin.

" _Well_ , whether you're interested or not, I think you started young." The knife traveled down his cheek to his neck to his chest. "You already had an arsenal of scars when you came into my… care. Old ones. How old were you when you started? Ten? Eleven?"

"You act like it still wasn't a choice." Despite the fact that the blade was now cutting into his chest, Dick's voice was amused. "I was not forced into it. It was what I wanted to do. The fact I was young makes no difference."  
"Most parents wouldn't allow a preteen to be a cute little superhero, fighting villains who would kill you if you got the chance."

"You're trying to get something from me. Some information. You're not going to get it." His teeth clenched tightly as the red ran down his abs.

"I'm just… curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat," Dick forces out, trying to keep his words and tone steady as the knife plunged deeper into his skin. Still shallow, but much more painful with how slow it was.

"That's rich coming from you." After all, you had be be curious to be a hero… curious enough to discover nefarious plots.

"Heh, t-true…" Dick replied, tensing as the knife traveled up his chest again, this time leaving a trail of red where it had shallowly cut. "There's one… there's one difference between us though."

"And what's that?"

Dick's teeth are bloody when he smiles.

"I know when I'm beat."


	2. Last Resort

At three in the morning, the doorbell rang.

Raven couldn't say she was surprised to see a smiling (more like grimacing, but she could tell what expression he was going for), yet tired Dick Grayson at the door. Though it had been a while since either of them had been titans that didn't mean that they weren't still friends, but he rarely came unannounced. That could only mean one thing. A glance to the drops of red on and by his feet only confirmed her suspicions.

"Come in," she sighed, "...before you get more blood on the floor."

* * *

If the landlord of her apartment ever had any questions about the strange brown stains in her carpet, he never asked. It might have been that, besides the discoloration, she was a perfect tenant. Always paid her rent on time, was never loud, didn't do drugs or drink alcohol, no trouble with the law, nothing. But honestly, it was almost certainly because he was afraid of her.

Despite the fact she'd grown out of some of her awkwardness, as an adult she was almost more intimidating, and very mysterious. Some of the other tenants whispered about her sometimes, how they were worried she must be a murderer or psychopath or villain or anything dark like that. Raven was never offended. At this point, her teenage insecurity had melted to the confidence of an adult, and fighting crime and knowing how strong and capable she was, and with the help of her friends, she no longer cared for the opinions of total strangers. The truth was so far off from their gossiping she had to keep her amused laughter to herself.

She could tell them who she really was, but there was no fun in that.

But anyway, the blood that created those dark spots was usually from Dick.

He didn't just come to her when injured, honestly he rarely did, but when he rang her doorbell it was usually serious. At least bad enough that he couldn't handle it himself, and serious enough that he didn't want Jason to do it. His trust for her was just as strong, but it was a different kind of trust. He was fully aware that while the wounds he came to her with might cause emotions he wasn't prepared to deal with, she would not show them and just take care of them for him.

He didn't just use her either. He called often, and came to visit occasionally. She appreciated it. They were still close friends, and she was glad that even though they weren't on the same team anymore, he still valued that. Valued her. But in this moment, there was the probably serious wounds she had to fix.

Dick definitely didn't disappoint that expectation.

When she invited him in, she noticed instantly he was stumbling, and bleeding a lot from more than one place. The sweatshirt was a muted, stained brown, the shirt underneath swallowed so completely by it she didn't see the color or anything about it. His jeans were old and bloody, and his feet were bare and dyed just as red as the clothes. The clothing was torn and obviously not his by the way it hung off his body. Raven didn't ask where he'd gotten it from.

"Go sit on the bed. I need to get some new sheets anyway," she all but ordered. He frowned at her (he did not like causing that kind of trouble) but it took one gesture to get him to move there anyway. Once he sat, took a deep breath, and off came the sweatshirt. Her violet eyes widened and for a moment she couldn't move, couldn't even breathe.

He wasn't wearing a shirt underneath, and there was an obvious reason why. there was an obvious reason why. His chest and stomach weren't good, just bruised with the stray cigarette burn and gash, but his back… It was something else. Whip marks, some maybe only a few hours old, many still open and bleeding freely, covered his back and the back of his arms. She was starting to realise most of the blood covering him was indeed his own.

No wonder he was having trouble walking. Injured this much, she was wondering how he even got here. It was almost as bad as Slade… And Slade was only that bad because he was obviously broken mentally. But currently, he was calm, hands folded, leaning forward with elbows on his knees as he stared at his bloody toes. Pain made his muscles tighten and cause a tense look about his posture and features, but besides that there was just the calm. Only calm.

That was almost more worrying.

"This…" What could she even say…? What could she say, when how this happened was becoming even clearer with each passing moments, the word dancing on the edge of her tongue-

"I… yeah. I know it's not good. I know it looks back. I don't… I don't need them healed. Just… can you close them? And then I just need to eat something and sleep, if you don't mind. I'd find somewhere else to crash, but…" The unsaid words hung in the air like a storm cloud. _I don't have anywhere close to go._

It took most of the training that had kept her emotions locked since she was small to remain calm, and keep her voice that way, too, as she carefully sat next to him on the bed. "Dick, you can't just expect to be okay tomorrow. This… It's going to take a while to heal. I'm honestly surprised you made it here."

"…I know," he replied after a moment. His dejected tone was believable, and in that moment she knew that he wasn't as strong right now as he was pretending to be.

"I don't think you do. You're definitely staying the night, and maybe the one after that too." She didn't often take control, but when her friend needed someone to slow him down and Jason wasn't here to do it, she gladly stepped up. "And you need to tell Jason. You need to tell him you're here, and what happened."

His reaction was instantaneous. He shot up into a sitting position, a pained frown settling as a few of the wounds reopened and his breathing quickened. "I don't-" he choked on the words and swallowed them, his eyes wide and panicked.

"Relax. You've already hurt yourself more. It's… It was just a suggestion, Dick. A very good one. It's pretty obvious you've been tortured." He froze. Raven didn't need that confirmation she was right, but there it was anyway. "He's going to find out sooner or later, and you've probably been gone long enough for him to be worried. It's better to get it over with. It'll be easier on the phone than in person anyway."

"No." Firm, and left no room for discussion. Raven knew the tone. She wasn't going to get anywhere. It was frustrating, but...She knew when to pick her battles, and when to give in… but not without conditions of her own.

"Fine, you don't have to…" she sighed. "But you are staying the night, and if I'm not satisfied with how you are tomorrow, the next one too. This isn't a choice." A heartbeat. And then another.

"Okay." Dick knew too when to fight, and when it wasn't a good idea to.

"Good." Raven nodded and finally lifted her pale hands to hover above his back. The wounds closed at her fingertips. She paid special attention to the ones that seemed infected or were most likely to. The woman wanted to heal all of them completely, but Dick was right.  
He had so many little wounds, it took most of her energy to heal them enough to stop bleeding, and knowing that she wouldn't be able to do much more there, she then healed some bruises and burns as well.

By the time she pulled away, exhaustion pulled at her limbs, and all she wanted to do was nap. Well, almost all she wanted to do.

"Can you stand?" she questioned, and he nodded."

"I think so. I should be the one asking that though."

"I'm fine." Raven waved the concern away. "I'm just tired. Go shower. It shouldn't hurt too much now. I'll take a nap, and then I'll make some food for us."  
Dick probably would have offered to make the food if he didn't see the expression on his friend's features. So, he simply stood, and though he walked stiffly, it was much better than before. She watched him enter the bathroom and closed the door before she laid down on the non-bloody side of the bed. She was asleep as soon as she closed her eyes.

The water was still running when she woke.

* * *

For a moment, there was that uncomfortable feeling common in those who had taken a nap. It felt like no time had passed, yet she had no idea. A quick look at the clock assured her that it had only been a half hour, and she relaxed. She still felt exhausted, but not as much as she'd been before.

Without another thought, she stood and walked towards the kitchen, suddenly glad she'd gone grocery shopping the day before. After barely a moment, she decided to fry up some fish. She wasn't a giant fan of the food, but she was usually well stocked on food that could help with blood loss. Especially when it came to Dick, who very much pushed himself too hard at times.

The water finally stopped when the smell of the sizzling fish filled the air. She wasn't too surprised that he'd taken such a long shower. He usually didn't, but he was covered in dirt and blood. He probably hadn't gotten an opportunity to wash himself off in a while anyway.

He quickly ate both of the fish she'd cooked, and before he could even thank her, she shoved him towards the bed, and _don't argue because this is more than her insisting_.

If it was possible, Dick fell asleep even faster than Raven had earlier.

She sighed and picked up the phone as soon as his breathing had evened out. Though she'd said Dick didn't have to call… Besides, _he_ hadn't given her this number for no reason.

"...Jason?"

* * *

 **This is a two-shot I found in my google docs, and I thought I'd post it. Why not? While I struggle to write the next chapter of Mask, I figured I should give you guys something. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed it!**


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